dinsdag 12 augustus 2014

Losing
Him, Gaining You is a refreshingly honest and uplifting guide through divorce.
Based on research and her own experience, Corbin Lewars coaches her readers
through tough territory with a direct, straightforward step by step approach to
divorce. With inspiration and a large dose of humor, Corbin offers a way
forward that will help others trust themselves and make wise choices for their
new life.

Author Bio

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The
memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA
and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-
five publications as well as in several writing and parenting anthologies. For
the past fifteen years she has worked with other writers as a developmental
editor, coach and writing instructor. She lives in Seattle, WA with her two
children and very large cat.

Book Excerpt

Reacquainting Yourself With Your
Body

You
painted your bedroom a luscious eggplant color. You’ve taken a good look at
your finances and figured out how you can make it through the next few months
or maybe even year. You’ve reached out to other divorced women. You’ve taken
some time to be by yourself and cry, rage, mourn, and consider your part in the
divorce. Now, it’s time to take a look at your body.

“What?!”
you say.

That’s
right lady, time to take it off. You’ve been looking at your emotional state,
now it’s time to look at your physical state. I’m guessing I’m not the only one
who’s had the occasional affair with a pound cake. There’s nothing wrong with
that, I love a good treat. It’s only a problem if the chocolate bar became your
way to cope, and way to not cope. When that happens, you’re no longer treating
yourself, you’re ignoring reality.

Speaking
of ignoring things, when is the last time you looked at your naked body? If you
can’t remember, we’re in trouble. When you took a gander, did you groan or
smile? Or was it all a blur because you were running so fast to put on your
natty old bathrobe? Don’t worry, I won’t make you get rid of said bathrobe, but
I will encourage you to stop hiding behind it.

Be Kind When Looking at Yourself

The
first thing to remember when reacquainting yourself with your long-lost
friend—which is you in the flesh—is that she’s aged. Do not expect her to look
twenty when she’s forty. Be kind to her. Remember all that she has done for
you. Perhaps she carried and birthed a few babies for you. Maybe she’s climbed
mountains, pedaled bikes, or stayed in downward dog for way longer than she
wanted to. Even if she hasn’t done any of these things in a long time—or
ever—she has carried groceries for you, walked miles (even if it was just from
the car to the office door) and cleaned your bathroom for you. And for that,
she deserves credit and respect.

Another
good thing to remember is that every woman (at least that I know) is
dissatisfied with at least one aspect of her body. One woman thinks her nose is
too big, another that her breasts are too small, another her butt is too wide,
or hair is too curly. Perhaps it’s not a specific area you are disgruntled
with, but more of an overall desire to be more firm, smooth, thin, or
voluptuous. No one is perfect, because we aren’t supposed to be. That goes for
our emotional state as well as our physical appearance.

Sheila
Ellison in her book, The Courage to Love Again, claims, “Once we think
about ourselves as sensual, creative, and powerful women, the next step is to
begin to honor our bodies.” She suggests creating a new set of personal beliefs
as a way to honor ourselves. One of her personal beliefs is, “Every part of my
body is beautiful and clean. I will not be ashamed, and I will make no excuses
for imperfections.”

If
creating a new set of personal beliefs about yourself and your body doesn’t
appeal to you, that’s fine. But I invite you to try, even if it is just for
thirty seconds, to focus on an area of your body that you do like. Maybe it’s
your hair, or your legs, or your smile, or your elbow. I don’t care what it is
or if it’s even visible for most people, I just want you to appreciate at least
one area of your body. Good, that’s progress. We’ll work on the least favorite
areas later.

Everyone has Aged, not Just You

I
considered my body while getting divorced about as much as I thought about the
mating habits of tarantulas. I was so wrapped up in my emotions I didn’t care
about my body. This isn’t to say I ate nothing but pizza for months straight. I
still walked every day and ate well-balanced meals, along with my lover, the
pound cake. I didn’t abuse my body, I just didn’t think about it. About five
seconds after Jeremy moved out, people asked me when I was going to start
dating again. My response was usually, “Never,” but their questions started
seeping into my self-conscious. “Dating?” I thought. “I vaguely remember that
term. I think it involved the opposite sex.”

For a
month or two, the term “opposite sex” frightened me so much I couldn’t process
anymore. “Don’t worry, pound cake! I’m still here for you!” I’d call out. And
back to my lover’s arms I went.

Time
passed and I dared to go a little bit further with this dating notion. “Yes,
dating would involve talking to men,” I told myself. “Steady now girl, you can
do this. Maybe some day you could have coffee with a man, that wouldn’t be too
bad, would it?”

!

Just as
I was running to the store to find another pound cake, a friend invited me out
for margaritas and tacos. She had very recently separated from her husband, but
was already dating. This alone shocked and horrified me. She terrorized me
further by joyfully announcing she went skinny dipping with a man on the second
date.

I spit
taco all over her as I screamed, “Oh my God, are you insane?” I’m no prude. I
worked at a “clothing optional” facility in my youth and still enjoyed being
naked. When I was by myself! But with a man I didn’t know in broad daylight?
Hell no! Suddenly, being nervous about having coffee with a man seemed
laughable. Now, dating a man = getting naked.

No man
except my ex-husband had seen my naked body in nearly fifteen years. We all
know husbands stop being considered “men” after about five years. Walking
around naked in front of Jeremy felt like walking around by myself: neither of
us noticed my nudity anymore. It wasn’t that he didn’t find me attractive; he
was very good about telling me I looked nice. But that was always when we were
dressed up to go out. Naked wasn’t sexy for us, it was real life. I was naked
while giving birth to both of our children. I was naked while vomiting with the
flu. I was naked while getting out of the bath. I was not naked, doing a strip
tease, while offering endless blow jobs. I was naked and sitting on the toilet.
And unless that’s your fetish, toilet naked is not sexy.

“You let
him see you naked in broad daylight?” I asked my brazen friend.

“Sure,”
she said.

“Weren’t
you scared?”

“No,”
she laughed.

She
ordered another glass of wine; I changed my order from a water to another
margarita, and braced myself for the horrendous details. She and her date left
work early on a sunny day, which Seattleites view as holidays, and met at a
secluded spot on Lake Washington. They chatted for a few minutes, stripped off
their clothes, and dove in the water. I gasped and shouted, “No way!” so many
times, all of the other patrons around us were not only privy to our
conversation, they were hanging on her every word.

“You are
a rock star!” I said as I high-fived her. “I can’t believe you stripped in
front of a man you hardly know. And that you felt good about it!”

“It’s
not as if any of us have great bodies anymore. I’ve got stretch marks and a
saggy tummy from babies. He has an extra fifteen pounds or so in his gut and
man boobs. But we’re still attracted to one another. In fact, the sex was hot!”

The
entire restaurant went silent as they listened for the details, which they
heard. But I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait. This chapter is just about
your body. We’ll get to sex in the next chapter.